It was the close of a spring day, and the sun was setting. A young man was standing in front of the western city-gate of Loyang, the capital, during the Tang dynasty in China. He was looking up absentmindedly into the sky. His name was Tu Tzuchun, and he was the son of a very rich man; but now he was living poorly and miserably, for all his fortune had been wasted away.
At that time Loyang was considered the most prosperous city in the world. Therefore it was crowded with all kinds of traffic, and its streets were always full of people. Under the oily glow of the setting sun, which was reflected fully from the city-gate, the silk-gauze hats of ancient lords, the gold earrings of Turkish ladies, and the many-coloured decorative reins on the heads of white horses made a very beautiful picture as they streamed by incessantly.
Tu Tzuchun, however, stood leaning against the gate walls, and gazed absently at the setting sun. Above, the silvery circle of a new moon could be already seen shining white and ghostly through the evening haze.
“It grows dark, and I am hungry. No one will give me a bed. … Perhaps it will be better to drown myself in some river and end the life I am leading,” thought Tu Tzuchun, and, just as he was turning this idea over in his mind, there suddenly appeared from somewhere an old man with one squint eye, who stopped in front of him. The setting sun, falling aslant on the body of the latter, cast a long shadow upon the gate. For a moment he looked intently at Tu Tzuchun, and then said abruptly:
“What are you thinking about?”
“I?” said Tu Tzuchun, looking up, “I am thinking of what I shall do, for I cannot find a place to lay my head or pass the night.”